


Asphyxi-Fate: Love At First Bite

by victorchewitsshouldntdothis



Series: Asphyxi-Fate [1]
Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile
Genre: Asphyxiation, M/M, Male Bonding Gets Gay, Male Virginity, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11590920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorchewitsshouldntdothis/pseuds/victorchewitsshouldntdothis
Summary: The rain in Greenvale has a nasty effect on some people. Even so, knowing that does not reassure Michael Tillotson when he wakes up in the basement of a stranger's house. As someone who has spent most of his life in isolation, Michael is surprised to find that occasionally turning into a zombie is not as big an issue as trying to socialise with the person who brought him in from the rain. Socialise, and then some.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this six months or so ago and I was going to keep it as my filthy secret, but the fandom is starved for fic as it is, so I'm dumping this here. Enjoy the smutty bits, and basically you know what you're getting. It says it on the tin.

The whole room smelled of damp and when Michael came to, it was the first thing he noticed. It was far ahead of the question of where he was. When that one arrived, he jolted upright and realised he had been collapsed on the floor, the bare floor, of what was clearly a basement. He rubbed the back of his head and tried to work out what had happened last. He had driven himself into Greenvale, around nine in the evening, hoping to have a quiet drink by himself at the Galaxy of Terror. He never had more than one, knowing the long drive home was always ahead of him, so he could rule out getting drunk. At least, he hoped so. As he slowly recognised a dull sound in the background for what it was, the distant hammering of rain, he realised what had happened. He buried his fists in his eyes and hoped he had at least not been driving at the time. Michael got shakily to his feet and surveyed the room properly. It was disused. Nothing more than a few boxes crammed under the stairs and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. He had to admit, this had never happened before.

“Hello? Excuse me?” he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth and hoping that however he had found himself in this basement, it had not been violent. If he had accidentally hurt someone, well, that would not be a pleasant surprise to wake up to. A few moments later, he heard the sound of someone moving upstairs. The footsteps stopped outside the door and he waited impatiently to find out who was on the other side.

“All okay down there?” they called back. Michael did not know how to reply. It seemed a little out of place a comment considering he was presumably locked in this stranger’s basement. He hoped he had not agreed to come, for some reason, but then if what he thought had happened had, that was impossible.

“Yes… yes, I suppose so,” he said eventually. “Only I am not sure what’s happened. Can you please come here?” It was oddly civil, but then he had no idea how else to act. He heard the sound of the door unlocking and blinked up at the sudden light when it opened.

“Not gonna bite me this time, I hope,” the stranger laughed. Michael’s eyes adjusted after a few seconds, and he was able to get a look at them as they began down the stairs. It was a man, with shoulder-length blonde hair sticking roughly out at his neck. He was wearing a red plaid shirt, sleeves pushed up, over jeans and a pair of battered combat boots. Enough to make him look like a hangover from Greenvale’s lumber days. Michael had never seen him before in his life. The man leant his shoulder against the wall when he reached the bottom of the stairs and fixed Michael with a steady look. Eventually, Michael felt pressured to speak.

“Well… hello, I… suppose,” he managed. The stranger shot him a grin.

“Hello, too,” he said. “So, want to explain yourself now?”

“How so?” Michael asked. He would have thought it should be the other way around. If you woke up in someone else’s basement, you really shouldn’t be the one to do the explaining.

“I thought you were out of it,” the man laughed. “I dunno what on, but hey, I’m not exactly the right person to judge. Seriously though, the biting? The scratching? Poor etiquette. At least… when you meet someone on the street.”

“Oh, no,” Michael moaned, spinning around to hide his expression. He had been right, then. What he had hoped hadn’t happened, had. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly to the floor.

“Yeah, you’re lucky actually,” his new friend said, taking a few steps towards him. “I almost hit you with my truck. You were out in the middle of the road, and on a rainy night like that? Hell, I’m just glad I don’t have to peel you out off the front. I figure someone else would have called the cops, too. Or dragged your sorry ass to a hospital. I guessed maybe you wouldn’t want that. I know if I was… well, I just mean, I wouldn’t want someone getting me committed over what I’m hoping you’re gonna tell me was a misunderstanding.”

“Right… of course,” Michael mumbled. The stranger stepped in front of him, eagerly awaiting an explanation. Sadly, there was not going to be a good one. “Uh, can I ask… exactly what happened? And where it happened. I’ll need to get back to my car.” As Michael turned towards the stairs, he felt a hand on his arm. He was being carefully held in place.

“No, no, please, maybe _do_ explain yourself before you leave.” The stranger narrowed his eyes. “I’ll go first if you like. I was driving home from never-you-mind, and suddenly catch sight of someone in the street in my headlights. I slam on the brakes, sure that was good for them, and manage to stop before I knock you back on your ass. When I get out of the car to start my good citizen routine of ‘oh, are you all right, sir?’, ‘you seem disorientated, sir!’, you try to _rush_ me. I wonder if I’m being creatively mugged, but no, you don’t make any attempt to grab for anything like that! It’s all teeth and fingernails! You almost took a chunk out of my arm, I swear, before I realised you were too far gone to listen to a word I said. Lucky for you, again, I manage to get you in the truck bed. You’re clearly not at your best, so I shove a coat over your head and hope you stay the fuck down. Plenty of snarling and some banging on the driver’s window, but I get you back here in the end. Then it’s down into the time-out basement for you until you sober up and, lo and behold, here we are now, having an adult conversation!” He fixed Michael with a warning grin. “Now it’s your turn to talk.”

“All right, I understand,” Michael sighed, beaten. “May I ask first… exactly how long have you been here in Greenvale?”

“Oh, that’s relevant to the story, is it?” the stranger sneered. “Well if I know my tropes, it’s about to go Midwich or Hinamizawa in here. Which is it? Let’s hope it’s not full Summerisle.”

“I don’t… I don’t follow, what do you mean?” Michael asked, with rising distress. “I’m sorry, this is all… well, confusing, and I just…”

“All right, look, slow it down. What’s your name?” The smile that accompanied this question was somewhat softer. “I’m Victor, for the record.”

“It’s Michael,” he answered. “Michael Tillotson.”

“Nice to meet you then, Michael,” Victor said. “As to your question, I’ve not lived here long. I had to haul my ass out of Boston and I hear Washington is nice in the fall. It’s been about a month.” He held out his palms. “Now you.”

“Greenvale is not the most… usual town,” Michael said delicately. “The truth is, for those of us who have been here too long, there are… problems.”

“Scratchy, bitey problems, huh?” Victor asked dryly. Michael nodded. “I promise to believe you. I feel like saying that is going to make this go faster.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. “Essentially, the inhabitants of Greenvale fall victim to a certain, ah, condition. It causes… that.”

“And by ‘that’, you mean violent dissociative episodes of the sort that I’m left feeling like Barbara.”

“Excuse me?”

“Cause you’re coming to get me… Christ, you don’t watch a lot of movies, do you?” Victor brushed it off, shaking his head. “Zombies! You turn into fucking zombies!”

“Not exactly!” Michael protested. “I think that would imply that we were dead! It’s temporary. It happens sometimes when it rains. The rain… it stirs up something in the ground, a poison that causes violence when unbound.”

“You’re pesticide zombies, then,” Victor sighed. “God, it’s like Troll 2 fucked The Happening and decided to raise their baby in a nice sleepy village full of cicadas.”

“Greenvale is known for episodic cicada population explosions,” Michael added. Victor shot him a quick glare.

“Not really my point, but all right. I’ll bear that in mind and shoot myself before it happens next. But, on a more serious note, let’s continue discussing how you turned into a certified, mother-fucking zombie and tried to bite my throat out, shall we…?”

“Ah, I’m sure I didn’t do that,” Michael protested. He knew his own strength. Although he was slightly taller than his rescuer, a rare enough sight, he doubted he would have been any match in a fair fight. “I’m never… I’ve never done anything particularly violent before.”

“Successfully,” Victor countered dryly, and Michael was forced to give him a small nod of confirmation. “Comforting. So, it’s the rain? You’re basically allergic to the rain? In the sense that you… turn.”

“It’s in the air when it rains, yes,” Michael agreed. “Anyone who has lived in Greenvale for a sufficient time is at risk. Especially those who were born here. Breathing in the fresh air when it rains, I believe that is the root cause.”

“Interesting,” Victor said. “Then… do something about that, I guess? Don’t just go walking in the rain! I mean, self-preservation instincts have never heard of this town!”

“I was not walking in the rain!” Michael snapped. “The last thing I remember puts me inside. I was at the Galaxy of Terror, and I was going to drive home after I left.”

“But you didn’t plan for rain, so somewhere between leaving the place and getting the car unlocked, you went screwy,” Victor sneered. “Incredible. I guess it came on quick.”

“Yes, perhaps it did,” Michael answered snottily. “Thank goodness someone had the kindness and foresight to lock me in a basement.” He turned again for the stairs and Victor hurried to cut him off.

“It’s still fucking raining!” he cried in disbelief. “If you go out, who’s to say you won’t find some sweet old lady to sink your teeth into? I can’t let you walk out and go murder-fuck on someone else! That’s just irresponsible.” Michael crossed his arms and tried to analysis the stern facial expression facing him. He felt as if he was in trouble, somehow, and his will weakened.

“You might be right…” he admitted half-heartedly. “I will still be missed at home, so I do need to leave as soon as possible. Though you know that forcing me to stay would make you a fool.”

“Sure, sure,” Victor scoffed. “You have a girlfriend waiting back home, I expect? Aww. Sweet.”

“No, no not that,” Michael insisted. He doubted that the truth, that he was bound to be in for a round of questioning from his father if he appeared later than eight in the morning, would go over well.

“I can picture her now!” Victor crowed, clasping his hands together in mock delight. “Dippy blonde with one of those weak-tea smiles. Probably fawns over you all ‘oh, Michael, don’t go out tonight!’, ‘please, I mean it, because of the whole zombie thing!’, ‘at least take a raincoat!’. I mean, am I close?” He smirked to himself and Michael’s shoulders stiffened angrily.

“You are not right,” he snapped. “I am perfectly… without anything of that nature.”

“Most people say single,” Victor replied smugly. “Anyway, if you don’t have a bird on the line, then it’s not a big deal. Wait it out for a few hours, I’m sure the rain will end soon enough. You want a drink? You don’t have to stay down here.” He rested a hand on the banister, and began up the stairs. Michael sighed weakly to himself and followed.

When they were upstairs, Michael looked around the living room. The curtains were already drawn, and it was sparsely furnished, though Victor had said that it was a recent move. There was a worn sofa and a television sitting on an old apple crate. Victor gestured for him to sit.

“I’ll get you something,” he said, disappearing into the next room. “What do you want? Vodka? I don’t have any beer, I hate it.”

“Tea, preferably,” Michael said, sitting himself down on the sofa, hovering uncomfortably. He was very rarely a guest in anyone else’s house. The rules were lost on him, and he felt himself freezing up.

“Yeah, we’re not back in the old country anymore,” Victor laughed from the kitchen. “I don’t have any tea. My parents, maybe, if you can track them back to England, but you might not fancy the trip. Neither would I, frankly, if we have to speak to them. Look, I have vodka, and I have water. Which is it gonna be?”

“Water,” Michael said. After a minute, Victor reappeared and handed him a glass, planting himself next to Michael on the sofa. Michael sipped and immediately felt better, icy behind the eyes. The episodes may not be caused by drinking, but they certainly brought their own kind of hangover.

“So then, Michael,” Victor began, friendly and light again. “How would you like to spend the time until the rain lets up…?” He drew the question out, letting it hang. Michael barely paid attention. For the moment, his interest was entirely captivated by the cold water. After a pause, Victor carried on. “I was at that bar you mentioned myself, tonight,” he admitted. “I guess that’s why I ran into you when I did, you probably didn’t get far the way you were.”

“You were at the Galaxy of Terror?” Michael asked. “Did you see me leave?”

“Naw, sorry, I was pretty… preoccupied.” Victor waved a hand dismissively. “Actually, they kicked everyone out after a while. Probably including you. The owner got pretty pissy about… something or other, wanted to close up early.”

“Ah. That might explain it,” Michael agreed. He found a hazy memory somewhere in the back of his mind, the vague sound of shouting and a twinge of annoyance as he was rushed out of the door. It seemed to fit. If he had been flustered by an early eviction, he may have been more vulnerable to the trouble the rain brought with it.

“You know her…?” Victor probed cautiously. “The owner? Carol, I think?”

“I’ve met her,” Michael replied. It was hard to avoid it. Carol MacLaine was a force to be reckoned with, and anyone in her orbit got a clear idea that she was not someone to mess around with.

“Yeah, probably my mistake,” Victor admitted. “I was hoping to mess around with her. I know not to try that one again, I guess.” Michael stared.

“In what sense?” he asked.

“In the usual sense, I hope!” Victor laughed. “Well. She wasn’t biting, and she kicked me out. Kicked all of you out first, though. Guess I was hard to excise. Maybe a little past my limit.” Michael continued to stare, eyebrows raising in horror.

“You drove me home!” he cried. Victor scoffed at him.

“You tried to eat me!” he countered. “I’m not drunk now. I sobered up pretty much as soon as I stepped out into that sheet rain. I don’t know how you stand it. Oh, wait. You don’t.” Michael turned his head, choosing to exit the conversation and returning to his water. Victor reached for the remote and channel-surfed for a while, settling on an old episode of the Twilight Zone. Michael began to watch along with him, when he felt a wave of dizziness wash through his head. He placed the glass down on the floor and buried his head in his hands, moaning weakly. He felt Victor reach over and gently pat him on the back.

“No!” he said firmly. “No, please, I… it’s still raining, and I think…”

“No need to tell me twice,” Victor said, jumping up from the sofa. Michael allowed himself to be directed back towards the basement. He barely noticed the walk down the stairs, hovering on the edge of consciousness, feeling the sensation rising up like before. He found himself down on his knees on the basement floor, though it was the last thing he noticed. Victor’s voice rang faintly in the background, but he was too far gone. He heard nothing.


	2. Two

When Michael woke up next, it was morning. He peeled himself off the floor, where he had seemingly slept face down, and stood up. After taking the time to work out the muscle cramps that were inevitable after a night on the floor, and brushing down his once-clean suit as well as he could, he went up the stairs. The basement door was unlocked, he noticed happily. As he walked through into the living room, he saw Victor sitting in front of the T.V., hunched forward, a hand running idly through his hair. Michael went over to join him, and when Victor saw him, he grabbed his arm and pulled him down onto the sofa.

“Sssh, don’t,” Victor said, before Michael could start. “Look at this shit!” Michael did. The T.V. was tuned to the local station, which normally put out minor public interest announcements, rarely with picture. It was essentially a radio station. Not today, it seemed. The screen was filled with a photo of the woods. “Listen! Are you listening?” Victor snapped, tapping him hard on the arm. “They keep repeating it. Guessing this is pretty big news for your Podunk town.”

“– which is when the body was found.” The pre-recorded voice was reciting over the still image. Probably, as Victor had suggested, this particular news item would be running all day. “The sheriff’s department is not releasing any details at this time, other than the victim’s name. Anna Graham, a local waitress, was said to be found dead on arrival –”

“Anna…” Michael murmured. “She’s dead…?”

“Yeah, murdered,” Victor added. “You knew her, then?”

“Well, yes, somewhat,” he admitted. He had. From the diner. Not especially well, but enough to be shocked. Victor grinned at him, inappropriately, Michael thought, given the situation.

“I guessed. Keep listening,” Victor said. The speaker continued, offering some vague details that read like hearsay. Then came the part Victor was clearly waiting for.

“This morning, the sheriff of Greenvale admitted that their main person of interest is the currently missing Michael Tillotson, and that any information that can lead to the discovery of –”

“What?!” Michael shouted, leaping up. “That is absurd! And the sheriff… that man cannot be trusted! Why, there are things –” Victor cut him off with a quick finger to the lips, easing him gently back onto the sofa.

“Calm,” he said. He reached for the remote to flick off the television. “Basically, all they say after that is that someone reported you missing this morning, and cause of the whole… the murder thing… now the cops are looking for you. Oh, and that you were friends with the victim.”

“But I wasn’t!” Michael insisted. Victor kept a hand firmly on his shoulder, sensing that he would spring up again at the first opportunity. “I barely spoke to her! I suppose we were _friendly_ , but we never spoke outside of her work. I… I… ahh!”

“Listen,” Victor said carefully. “Maybe you should lay low for a while. Just until they catch the real killer. Does that sound smart?” Michael stared at him in shock.

“What? Of course not. I have to go and straighten this out immediately!” he began, but Victor tutted at him, pulling a face.

“I may not know much,” he began. “But if, as you just said, the sheriff is not the trustworthy sort, and you’re already the number one suspect in his eyes… maaaaybe don’t trust the next twenty years of your life to his judgement, mmkay?”

“No, no,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Besides, I was here all night. You can tell them that, right? You can give me an alibi, and this will all be cleared up!” The look Victor fixed him with rather quashed his enthusiasm.

“Your alibi is what?” Victor asked. “That you were with a total stranger who you attacked in the street? Who had to lock you up in the cellar cause you were having some kind of violent zombie episode? And what if you go in and she was killed before I found you? Then all you’ve done is come over like this violent murder-ready total package with a giant ‘arrest me please and save the legwork’ sticker on your forehead. Seems risky.” Michael began to formulate a response. Some kind of argument, but he couldn’t think of anything solid. It was true. He knew from the content of certain personal family secrets that trusting the sheriff was impossible, and he had no doubt that if he went along to the sheriff’s department now, he would be in prison for life by the afternoon. No matter whose son he was.

“You’re right, it seems…” he mumbled to himself. “Then I’m stuck.” He sunk back into the sofa, feeling the full weight of it pressing down on his chest.

“Yeeeeah. But hey, how about some breakfast?” Victor offered cheerfully. Michael stared at him. He was too tired to argue.

\--

After a few days, the news was still huge. There had been no progress in catching the killer, and after a trip to the grocery store, Victor excitedly informed Michael that an FBI agent was in town. When Michael had hopefully suggested that this meant they would close the case soon, Victor had broken down into laughter and eventually told him that the FBI agent had apparently spent all morning fishing in the river and eating pickles by himself. Michael’s hopes fell. The rain had barely let up, and he was beginning to hate spending half his time trapped in a basement. He needed something to get excited about.

“So, you can’t do this all the time,” Victor said out of the blue. Michael glanced over at him from his seat at the kitchen table. Victor was stirring pasta at the stove and had been quiet for ten minutes.

“Do what?” Michael asked.

“Duck underground when the rain starts,” Victor clarified. “What do you normally do?”

“Oh, that,” Michael sighed. “You’d be surprised. We have something at home. A basement. It’s safe.” Victor turned to look at him, wondering if he was serious.

“Werewolf protocol, ey?” he teased. Michael had grown sick of challenging all the little snide comments by now. “What if you need to go out? You just… don’t?”

“I just don’t,” Michael agreed flatly. “I suppose if I had to, there are… well there would be a way, but I don’t have access to it. The issue is in breathing in the fog that comes up with the rain, so that is from what you need to refrain.”

“From breathing,” Victor snorted. “All right, fine. Makes sense, totally reasonable. How hungry are you? You’re lucky I can cook. It would look suspicious if I had to keep ordering in for two, and we can’t exactly eat out.”

“Are they still looking for me?” Michael asked. Although he was trying his best to keep a cool head, it was on his mind constantly. He found it hard to feel comfortable knowing everyone in town thought he had killed someone. Victor dropped a plate in front of him and came to sit down at the table.

“Yep, they are,” he said. “Last I heard, the sheriff has told everyone he thinks you’re definitely the killer, and it’s just the FBI dragging its heels keeping you from being brought in. They’re asking around town for anyone who knows you to come forward, to try and figure out where you’re hiding.” Michael’s face fell.

“My father is going to… he must be so worried, I…” Michael stammered, unable to finish. He put a hand to his mouth in distress.

“That’s that Harry guy?” Victor asked, eyebrows raised. “Harry Stewart?” Michael stared at him in shock. It was not a well-known fact. “Yeah, he says he doesn’t know where you’ve gone, but that you always had your eye on Anna, and whoever’s hiding you should drop it now so you can face up to what you did.”

“You’re lying!” Michael shouted, hopping up from the table. He dug his nails into the wood, horrified. “You’re lying, he would not do that!”

“I mean, if that’s who you mean, then he did,” Victor said defensively, twirling a fork through his pasta. “At the town meeting. I went along to see what they had to say about you. I think you were out for the count in the basement again. You’ve been oversleeping down there even when the rain lets up a bit. Anyway, the sheriff said all that stuff, the FBI agent complimented Greenvale’s beautiful trees and advised everyone to stay indoors, and then that Harry guy spoke up at the end.”

“Aha! Well he would never –”

“Sorry, that was misleading. There was a nurse with him. They did the speaking. But it was all ‘that’s what Harry says’, so, I figured it was his words.” Victor finished his sentence by shoving the fork into his mouth and, as he idly chewed, unaware of quite the effect his story had had on the now paralyzed Michael, he waited for a response that wasn’t coming. Eventually, Victor looked up uncertainly to see that Michael was stuck in place like a video game character on a pause screen. Victor sighed to himself, got up, and wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulder, walking him through to the living room to stick him on the sofa.

“I can’t believe he would… replace me!” Michael cried out at last. He wrung his hands and looked to be on the verge of tears. Victor patted him cautiously on the shoulder and sighed again.

“He looks like he needs the help, don’t worry,” he reasoned. “Look, wouldn’t you rather he had a nurse looking after him? I mean… look, I’m trying. I don’t know.”

“My entire life is over!” Michael cried out, burying his face in his hands and moaning.

“No it isn’t,” Victor argued. “Look, let’s… I tell you what, let’s get you out of those clothes at least. You’ve been stuck in them for days and no offence, but white is not a colour you wear to bed and then walk around in the next morning.” Michael did not reappear from his hands, but he nodded into them. Victor broke into a grin, happy to have something to build on at least. “Great!” he said. “I’ll see what I have in my boxes.”

Victor disappeared and Michael struggled to fight off the urge to cry. Despite the weak reassurance, he was fairly sure that being the prime suspect in a murder investigation and finding out that you could be replaced by a temp worker in an afternoon meant that your life was, in fact, over. After a while, Victor returned and pressed a lump of fabric into Michael’s arms.

“What’s this?” Michael asked, unfurling the white jumper.

“It seemed like your thing,” Victor said, shrugging. “I sucked at cricket. I don’t have any of that hand-eye co-ordination shit you’re meant to have, so my school dumped me from the team pretty much as soon as some other smug wanker with the ability to stand up without shaking signed up, but I kept that out of spite. Probably still has a label from the school in it. Whatever, I only signed up to get a feel for who on the team was playing on _mine_.”

“How… clever,” Michael said dryly.

“There’s some other stuff on the bed you can wear,” Victor said. “Go ahead and change. Then you can finish eating. There’s not enough meat on you to skip dinner.”

“Well, that’s impolite!” Michael snapped, beginning the walk through to the bedroom. Victor watched him go smugly.

“Really?” he muttered under his breath. “I wasn’t complaining.”


	3. Three

Michael had spent another night on the basement floor. The weather refused to let up, and it had rained through the whole night again. At least the sleep was dreamless. He woke up to the sight of the plain ceiling above him and began the arduous process of bringing some feeling back into his limbs. He had never missed home more, though the focus was mostly just on thoughts of his bed and mattress. Since discovering he had been replaced, other elements of home were not quite as close to his heart. As he stretched out, he heard footsteps up above, followed by a knock on the basement door. He wondered how late in the morning it was.

“Are you decent?” Victor called out. “As in, human. You’re not feeling too bitey, today?”

“I’m fine,” he called back. A moment later, Victor hammered down the stairs, appearing in front of him wearing a broad grin.

“I got you a present,” he said deviously. Michael frowned.

“What does that mean?” he asked unhappily. Victor gave him a quick look of disbelief.

“Presents are something humans share,” he explained. “For reasons of obligation, or affection, or cause they found out about what you did to their sister on their sofa. But that was only once.” He clapped his hands together. “Anyway! Shall we…?” He extended an arm, but Michael did not deign to take it. Instead, he followed Victor up the stairs in silence, intrigued by the promise of a gift. Victor paused dramatically in front of the sofa, gesturing slowly towards a box sitting on the cushions as if it were a pile of gold bars. Michael considered it. It was a simple enough box, though Victor had gone to the trouble of wrapping a scrap of red ribbon around it.

Michael sat down on the sofa, lifting the box into his lap and cautiously sliding his hands over it. It was not especially heavy. Normally when he received gifts, they were in the form of clothes. That was basically all he had been given for years now. He expected this would be more of the same. Something else to wear as long as he was stuck here. He couldn’t survive in Victor’s hand-me-downs forever, after all. The borrowed cricket jumper felt heavy on his shoulders as he thought about it. He pulled on the ribbon and tugged it off, then lifted the lid.

“Ah! What…? Is it… a joke?!” Michael spluttered, staring at the contents in dismay. Victor swept in beside him, pulling the gift out of its case without breaking his smile.

“I figured, with all the rain…” he started to explain. “Hey, now you won’t have to sleep in the basement! This is right, isn’t it?” Victor pointed the gasmask towards Michael and shook it slightly, making the tail jiggle. “You said you can’t breathe the air? So, a gasmask, I figured… boom! Filtration! Hello, upstairs living!” Michael stared at him dumbly. He had barely even remembered that that was what the thing was for. He suddenly felt stupid. It was a surprisingly thoughtful gift.

“Th-thank you, then,” Michael said uncertainly.

“No problem,” Victor sighed in relief, now that his gift had been accepted. He held it out, waiting for Michael to take it. “I don’t know if there are sizes,” he added. “Try it on and see?” Michael gingerly took the proffered gasmask, and held it up. It smelt of fresh plastic, or something similar, and he wondered if it would be bearable to wear something like that on a long-term basis. Though he supposed certain people would confirm that it was. Victor waited eagerly, and Michael felt he had little choice but to do as he had been asked. He took a deep breath, pushed his hair out of his face, and pulled the mask down over his head. Immediately, the world turned an olive colour, tinted by the lenses. It clung tightly to his face, and he felt the urge to hold his breath, as if someone had put a plastic bag over his head. When he was forced to let it out, he was almost surprised to discover that he could breathe.

“So?” Victor asked, waving a hand in front of Michael’s eyes as if he had gone blind. “Does it work okay? Are you gonna asphyxiate under there? I don’t want both of us on the line for murder.”

“Very funny,” Michael attempted to say, though based on the confused look that crossed Victor’s face, it was too muffled and muttered to make out. He eased the mask off and dropped it into his lap. “I said, that’s very funny.”

“I try,” Victor shot back, grinning. “So, do you think it’ll work? If it rains?” Michael shrugged. He had no idea. He was hardly an expert on the type of filter needed to protect him from Greenvale’s tourism-repelling atmosphere.

“I hope so,” he said finally. A moment later, Victor reached across and brushed at Michael’s hair. He twitched out of the way at the touch. “What?” he asked.

“No need to panic!” Victor said, retreating at once. “I figure it gets warm under there. Your fringe is just… sticking to your forehead. I was gonna fix it, act gentlemanly. I guess I won’t.”

“Oh… I apologise.” Michael let his shoulders fall with mild embarrassment. He absently went to fix his hair himself, smoothing it back into place. “I’m not used to being… touched. By anyone. My reaction was… overdone.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry,” Victor dismissed. “And I’m sure you don’t mean that. Anyone…? Anyone’s a pretty wide group, you know what I mean?” He brought a grin back to his face and Michael found himself frowning in response.

“No, I don’t,” he said stiffly. “I’m not used to it. What do you…? I don’t understand.” Victor stared blankly at him, making it quite apparent that there was a level to the conversation Michael hadn’t noticed was there. He began to feel self-conscious, and shifted in place, turning slightly away from Victor. Instead, he ran his hands across the smooth material of the gasmask in his lap. It was very plastic-y to the touch. Probably latex, or something similar.

“You know what I meant, come on,” Victor purred, leaning his face close against Michael’s ear. “Maybe not everyone in your life is _affectionate_ , but you know what I’m talking about.” Michael shivered at the sudden closeness, the vibrations of Victor’s breath on his skin.

“No, I… no, I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Just tell me.” If there was a joke he was quickly becoming the butt of, he would rather just hear it now. Victor giggled to himself, sounding childish, like he was about to be put in detention for passing notes.

“You’re a bit thick, sometimes,” he murmured, refusing to pull back to his original position. He remained close enough to Michael that the heat from his breath still radiated noticeably over Michael’s ear, making him feel involuntarily twitchy. “I meant fucking. You didn’t get that?”

“Ah… that, no.” Michael subconsciously edged away, down the sofa. “I didn’t… sorry.”

“But you get it now,” Victor murmured. “You get what I meant.” He reached out, edging a hand towards Michael, creeping along with his fingers and placing it on the hand in Michael’s lap. Carefully separating his clasped fingers, twining his own through them. “Yeah…?”

“I don’t think…” Michael started jumpily. “I think I do understand, now, and…” Victor squeezed the hand that held his tightly, and Michael turned to look at him, finding the smirking face close to his own. So much so that their noses almost brushed. “I… I don’t think…” he tried again, but couldn’t quite decide what he was trying to say. Victor let go of his hand, placing it instead on Michael’s cheek, and steering his face close enough to kiss him. Michael was surprised, though he realised he shouldn’t have been, as the kiss happened. Victor pressed hard, but it only lasted a few seconds before he drew back again. Now, he was grinning in that unserious way that he seemed to adopt for anything from casual storytelling to, apparently, this.

“No? Yes? Feedback?” Victor waited. He did not drop the grin. Michael wondered what exactly he was meant to say. It had been too long since anyone had tried to kiss him. Too long since he had spent much time with anyone his own age, really. Too long since this, whatever it was, had even been a possibility.

“Fine,” he said at last. Anything else seemed too complicated. Victor’s grin finally faltered.

“Fine…?” he repeated dumbly. “Fine?! All I get’s a ‘fine’? Come on! I’ve been waiting for this for days and it’s just… fine?”

“Hold on,” Michael said, before Victor could carry on with his wounded monologuing. “What exactly do you mean you were waiting for it?”

“Oh, don’t play games,” Victor snorted. “You can’t pull off the innocent act for _that_ long. You’re twenty-one, not twelve!” Michael narrowed his eyes, and was becoming more and more aware of the fact that his face had completely flushed. He expected he looked quite red.

“Please, tell me exactly what you meant,” he spat poisonously. Victor hesitated for just a second, showing a rare break in his insistently overconfident demeanour.

“Just…” he began uncertainly, eyes shifting as he spoke. “I’ve been hot for you basically since you got here! You must know that! Did I stutter somewhere? You’re just… teasing me!” The last bit came out as something of a desperate cry and, if Michael hadn’t been flushed before, there was no doubt about it now.

“How?!” he shouted, in dismay. “You haven’t, because… you’re lying!” Now they were both sitting in stunned silence and, after a long pause, Victor began to laugh. The situation got the better of him. Michael did not join in. He was still shocked.

“Ohhh, _my god_!” Victor laughed, the Boston twang to his accent coming out strong. “You’re serious with this…? Fuck! I just… I’m never known for subtlety. I assumed you figured me out immediately and were just playing hard to get. The whole… icy, awkward thing… isn’t an act, then?”

“What thing?” Michael asked, taking some offence to the suggestion that he was, somehow, both wilfully unfriendly and also incompetent. “I have not been acting at all, this is just… me.”

“My apologies,” Victor muttered in a teasing hush. “Well, fine, but… it’s all on the table now, isn’t it? What do you think about… all of it?” He waited eagerly for an answer, smirk set, and eyes wide. Michael had no idea what to say. He had simply not thought about it, at all. Any kind of relationship, even friendship, was always unobtainable for him, so there was never any point considering it. He had fallen completely out of the habit of even imagining that other people might have any interest in him as a person. He was far too used to being seen as a prop, a Greek chorus, a hat stand that spouted cryptic information when nudged. That was, he was sure, how everyone saw him. Or rather, he had been sure. Apparently, he had been wrong in at least one case. Perhaps, he realised his mistake, it was because Victor had never got to know him under normal circumstances. Victor erroneously believed that he must live something of a normal life most of the time. How wrong he was.

“I have no idea,” Michael mumbled. At least it was honest. He realised he was still sitting with the gasmask in his lap, and placed it down on the floor. He didn’t want to feel that it was watching him, too. Victor carefully eased himself down the sofa and put an arm around Michael’s shoulders, which made Michael think of the stereotypical image of two people on a date at the cinema. He kept his hands firmly planted in his lap, so as not to accidentally commit to anything.

“Are you always this awkward around new people?” Victor asked dryly.

“Not exactly…” Michael muttered. He normally had plenty of melodrama to hide behind. He realised that he never actually had to be fully himself around people. This was a first, actually. Perhaps that was why he was so grossly unprepared.

“How do you ever get laid?” Victor giggled to himself. Hopefully not with mean intention, Michael thought to himself. Though he couldn’t tell.

“It’s not… high on my list of priorities,” he answered carefully. On top of everything, he felt the embarrassment of admitting that he was a virgin would be a little too much. He might actually have to disembowel himself out of shame.

“No? You shock me,” Victor said flatly, before being taken over by a fresh rush of giggles. “I assumed you had a thing with the dead girl. Isn’t that why they have you pinned for her murder…?”

“What?!” Michael asked, shocked. “No! No, I have never… I barely knew her!” Victor shrugged, the arm he had wrapped over Michael’s shoulder tightening and loosening with the motion.

“Gee, then I suppose you’re just getting fucked by the system,” he said, hesitated, realised the pun in his sentence and laughed crassly to himself once more. Michael waited for him to finish finding himself quite so amusing. “Anyway…” Victor sighed wryly. “How long does it normally take you to get past the whole… intense, antisocial panicking, and into the good stuff?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Victor sighed loudly over him before Michael was finished speaking.

“Enough with the not knowing what I mean, pleeease,” he moaned. “You must warm up to people. I just want to know if that’s gonna happen this century, or if I’m looking at getting laid sometime in 2019.” Michael curled his lip.

“You’re confident enough for both of us,” he hissed. Then, he pulled Victor’s arm off his shoulders, crossed his arms, and sat stiffly with his head turned away.

“All right, all right, I get your point,” Victor admitted. “It’s wrong of me to assume. You’re something something I’m very respectful of. Romance and smaltz and deep, sensitive feelings. I’ll make like the ending of Casablanca, or… I dunno, I don’t watch those kinds of movies. Something cute. It’s hard to come up with something when the most romantic movie I can bring to mind is Psycho.” He paused, staring off for a moment. “They never got to run away together… anyway. Apologies, begging, am I forgiven?”

“I don’t intend to let you do… whatever it is you want to do,” Michael said darkly. “Just because you offer me some half-hearted apology.”

“Then you should let me win you over the old-fashioned way!” Victor suggested cheerfully. “With my tongue.” Michael looked at him and creased his nose.

“No,” he said flatly. Victor sighed, getting up from the sofa and walking around in a little circle, hands on his head. Frustrated. “Did you…” Michael started. “Did you only rescue me and keep me out of trouble for… selfish reasons?” Victor stared at him suddenly, his expression turning serious.

“Not at all,” he said. “No, really. I just… I thought you deserved to have _one_ person look out for you, and… let’s just say it was beside the point, whether anything happened later. And it doesn’t have to. I’m sorry, like actually sorry, for… being a dick about it.” He smiled weakly. Michael waited, but there was nothing else. It did not seem to be a ploy. Victor meant it.

“Then… thank you.” Michael once again was stuck for how to feel. He was not used to kindness. It was much simpler to believe it had all come with the cost of an ulterior motive. “Uhh… all right, then, that’s… preferable. Thank you.”

“You said that,” Victor teased. “Look, how about I make us some breakfast. You don’t need to be thinking about this right now.” He spun around and headed for the kitchen. “Oh and by the way,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared. “You can sleep upstairs now. I don’t have a spare room, but you can take the bed if you want. I can handle the sofa for a while. I sort of owe you, after all that time on the floor. Your spine must be ready to murder me. Whoops! Sensitive!”


	4. Four

That night, Michael lay in Victor’s bed, sipping from a mug of tea. He had appreciated the fact that Victor had bought some for him, even though the other man had insisted on spending a while deriding tea as worthless piss before actually handing it over. Michael found it comforting to drink it. It made things seem more normal. It was the first night he felt a sense of safety since arriving at the house. The gasmask sat on the bedside table in case the rain started again, and Victor had made him swear that he would put it on without a second thought if there was any trouble. Apparently, he did not want to be mauled in the night. Or, as he had said, at least not to death. Michael finished the tea and put the mug down, leaning back into the pillow.

After breakfast, Victor hadn’t brought up the morning’s discussion again. It was as if the whole thing had been a joke, and he was over it. They had spent most of the day watching movies together, until Victor had gone out to run errands. Michael had, impolitely he would admit, scoffed that he was surprised Victor didn’t have a job to get to. And Victor had immediately retorted that he’d moved to Greenvale for the cheap rent. It was only after meeting Michael that he knew for sure why it was so cheap to live there. Victor had offered him a snarl and a laugh, and gone out. He’d only come back a few hours ago, and was currently asleep in the living room. Michael hadn’t really known why he’d snapped at Victor. He’d just felt off.  He thought about it now, and decided he was still wound up after their discussion that morning. It had been a shock.

“I couldn’t have known about it,” Michael muttered to himself. He shifted awkwardly in place, trying to get comfortable. “He didn’t… say anything.” He wondered what would have happened if he had. If Victor had brought it up more naturally, anyway. If they had had some time to think about it. Michael would have still been caught off guard. Since moving to Greenvale, he could honestly say, no-one had shown any interest in him. As far as he was aware. Not that anyone really had the chance. He did spend all his time locked up in the big house on the hill, hidden out of sight. It was not conducive to budding relationships. This was, it dawned on him, his first actual chance. His first chance to… what? Victor hadn’t specified, exactly. And Michael had a limited playbook to read from. It was hard to decide how he felt about it when he didn’t know what it was.

He sat up in the bed and tried to listen through the wall, to see if Victor was really asleep. He heard the low buzzing of the television, but nothing else. He probably was. Michael sighed to himself. He knew, obsessive as he was, that he wasn’t going to clear his head until he dedicated some thought to the issue. He decided to start at the beginning. Victor himself. Michael rarely allowed himself to think too hard about whether or not he might have feelings for someone, because it was all doomed from the start. As such, thinking about it now, he realised he didn’t have much of a preference in place. He asked himself if this situation would be easier with a woman, and thought it probably wouldn’t. If anything, he might feel worse. At least this way the two of them had something in common. That was about it, though. Victor and he did not seem very alike otherwise. Victor was confident and cocky and, clearly, Michael thought, not a virgin. Unlike him.

The few times Michael had let his mind wander to how he’d like to lose his virginity, it had been quite bland and undetailed, but it had definitely not been like this. It was always in his own bedroom, it was always a planned decision, and it always involved some minor confession of love on his part. The other person didn’t tend to matter. He usually borrowed the appearances of whoever he’d seen the day he felt like thinking about it, populating his daydreams with random faces from around town. It would have seemed exploitative to think too carefully about anyone in particular. But now that Victor had come out and propositioned him first, he didn’t feel that guilty. He tried to conjure up the usual image. The two of them, standing in his bedroom at home. He imagined telling Victor that he had feelings for him, but immediately ruined the moment by picturing Victor breaking out into laughter. Not the reaction he wanted, but the one he would probably get. Michael frowned to himself.

“It won’t work,” he muttered under his breath. “He couldn’t… do it right.” As he thought it, though, it occurred to him that maybe Victor wasn’t the one who was failing to do it right. It might actually be his limited expectations that were at fault. He screwed his eyes shut and tried again, this time putting the two of them in his imagination right there in the living room where they had been earlier that day. In his mind, he let Victor kiss him like before. Then he tried to decide what would happen next. What he wanted to happen next. He watched Victor take a step back, and begin to unbutton his plaid. After that, he let the imaginary Victor reach for the zip of his jeans. As he pulled at it, Michael coughed himself back to reality, breaking up the daydream. He let his head sink back into the pillow. It had been an efficient test, based on the blood rushing to his cheeks. And elsewhere. Michael moved his hand under the covers, brushing the front of his pyjamas. He couldn’t exactly hide it from himself. He had his answer. The idea apparently had at least some appeal.

Michael turned onto his side, squeezing his legs together, as if it would help. He was usually able to deal with sexual frustration in the shower attached to his bedroom, but it was safe to say that was out of the question tonight. He hoped it would go away on its own. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, not in a strange house, in someone else’s bed. He rolled onto his back again. It was worse than usual. Maybe because there was a focus to it this time, one he was finding it difficult to shake. The kiss and the touching and the suggestion from earlier were all swimming in his head. The way Victor had murmured the word ‘ _fucking_ ’ against his ear, breath flushing his skin with warmth. How could he avoid thinking about it? And the more he did, the longer he kept remembering every little detail, the worse it got. Michael cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes as if he was just waking up, but it did nothing to shift the daydreams. He was stuck with it. And it was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.

After ten minutes, Michael asked himself if it wouldn’t just be easier to take care of it. Victor was asleep, and, if he had to guess, he would have done worse things in this bed before now. Surely, it couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t exactly a winning argument, but Michael was frustrated, and he was going to let it convince him. He edged a hand under his pyjamas and around his cock. He tugged on it slowly at first, but after a moment he decided he had already committed to it, and let himself get into a rhythm. As he did so, he thought about where he had left off the daydream. Victor unzipping his jeans and stepping in close, kissing him again. And then what? He wasn’t sure. He tried to work with what he knew. He pictured Victor reaching out a hand and creeping into the waist of his trousers. Digging down and grabbing onto him. Michael gasped, in the dream and in reality, squeezing himself tighter for a moment as if it wasn’t him doing it. He thought about Victor’s face, close to his, the soft pink lips and wide grin, the blue eyes and dark lashes. Breathing on his skin.

“Victor…” he murmured out loud, quickening his fist around his cock, feeling the heat rushing through him.

“Yeah? What?” Michael stopped suddenly, eyes snapping open as if someone had let off a firework in front of his face. He jolted upright and saw Victor standing in the crack of the doorway, hair rumpled from lying on the sofa, holding a can of soda.

“What… you were… what are you doing?!” Michael gasped. Although he had instantly pulled out of his incriminating position, he could still feel his heart racing. This had certainly never happened before. Victor pulled the door open and took a step into the room, yawning.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he explained. “Went to get a drink. What’s got you… up so late?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Michael said quickly. “I just finished my tea, I was going… to sleep.” He hoped he sounded convincing. Victor opened the soda and took a slug of it without saying anything. Michael could not help but watch him closely. Certain images were still fresh in his mind, and he noticed that Victor’s shirt was partially unbuttoned, his jeans slipping down at the waist. Unfortunately for Michael, the sudden way in which he had been forced to cut off had only made his problem worse. His cock was all the more insistent now, and there was not a thing he could do about it. Victor sighed slightly as he finished drinking, and fixed Michael with a smirk.

“You’re just going to sleep, then?” he asked. Michael nodded stiffly. “All right,” Victor said. He turned as if to go, then quickly spun back around. “There’s tissues under the bed, if you need them after,” he added, breaking his composure with a fit of giggles, and quickly slamming the door behind him as he disappeared. Michael sat in horrified silence. Victor had probably seen him before he had announced his presence. The thought filled him with a sick kind of embarrassment. He would have thought that being caught in the act would have left him with nothing but the urge to lie down and die, but not all of him agreed. He was still hard, and the ache was not disappearing. If anything, a part of him wondered why he even needed to fight it now. Surely, it was already too late.

“Victor!” Michael found himself calling out, surprising himself. This was another first. He never gave into urges, never, but he supposed it had been a strange week. He heard footsteps and a moment later Victor stuck his head around the door.

“What?” he asked. Michael wasn’t sure. He had called out on impulse. He didn’t have a follow up. Victor sensed as much. He leant against the doorframe, smirking to himself. “Look,” he started smoothly. “I did see that you were… entertaining. I don’t care. If you’re going to try and apologise, don’t bother. It’s fine. We all do it, right?”

“Not that,” Michael said. “I wasn’t going to apologise, I wanted… I wanted…” He was still stuck.

“Oh!” Victor’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you should have said. I’d be happy to.”

“Happy to what?” Michael asked nervously. Victor strode towards him, pushing the bedroom door shut in his wake.

“Give you a hand,” he answered gleefully. Before Michael could answer, Victor began working the buttons holding his shirt in place. Michael found himself unable to say anything as he watched. As soon as Victor’s shirt was on the floor, he forced himself back into the moment.

“We probably shouldn’t,” Michael mumbled. “I don’t want you to feel… obliged to. Because I’m your guest, I mean.” Victor laughed to himself.

“That’s a weird concern,” he scoffed. “Well, come on. Move over.” Michael did not. The sudden reality of the moment had hit him like a bucket of cold water, and despite the pressure he was feeling from between his legs, he didn’t think he could go through with it.

“No, really!” he said sharply. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t.” Victor frowned slightly, uncertain.

“No…?” he asked. “It’s just… you were the one who called me. I was going to leave it alone.” Victor stopped himself, crossing his arms tight over his chest. “What did I do wrong this time?”

“Nothing!” Michael said at once, hit with a smack of guilt. He wished he could explain it. It was difficult to explain without looking foolish. “It was… I…” Then, he had an idea. “I’ve never slept with a man before,” he said triumphantly. It was true, he hadn’t. Nor anyone else, but Victor did not need to know that. He saw the realisation relax Victor at once, and the grin that he was beginning to like come back.

“That’s fine, I was wondering why you were so… anxious,” Victor sighed in relief. “I don’t care! I can talk you through it if you like.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Michael dragged the covers up so that there was no chance of them accidentally touching before he was ready. “Look, it’s like…” Victor started, trying to find the words. “Okay, so you know how it is with a girl?”

“Of course…” Michael mumbled, hopes sinking a little. “I do.”

“It’s not miles away from that,” Victor carried on, grinning cheerfully as if he was describing a recipe. “What was the last girl you were with like? Did she take the lead, I’d guess?” Michael did not answer, until a few seconds of silence told him that an answer was expected. And he didn’t have one.

“Oh! Right, uh…” Michael stammered, trying to think on the spot, and conjure up someone believable. Who could he claim that would not seem too far out of possibility? He recalled the night he and Victor had met. “Carol!” he blurted out. “Carol MacLaine. It was her. We… the two of us… yes, her.” Victor seemed surprised, opening his mouth without a word.

“Err… really?” he asked. Michael was ready to defend himself if needed, but Victor went on. “Shit, no wonder she wasn’t into me. I’m not her type. God, you and Carol, huh. I would not mind being… anyway.” He forcibly cleared his throat. Michael was pleased that Victor had accepted his story. It was one less embarrassment for tonight. “So… just imagine…” Victor said, lowering his voice to a drawl, accent coming in thick like cream. “That things between you and Carol were… reversed.”

“But they can’t be,” Michael pointed out. He may not know much, but he was fairly sure he knew that, at least. Victor shot him a thankless look, and he knew he was making this explanation harder than it needed to be.

“ _Imagine_ it, I said,” Victor sighed. “If you can’t imagine getting pinned by a crass blonde, then we’re really not going to get anywhere.” Michael tried to suppress the thought.

“But I don’t have… not what you’d need for that,” Michael mumbled. Victor stared. As Michael sat in awkward silence, Victor drew a hand up to his chest and gently gasped as if he had been touched by this latest revelation. Though what exactly Michael had said, or the implication of it, he did not know.

“Michael,” Victor said steadily. “I guess with your being an orphan, even one cute enough to push a Dickens novel, you missed out on a few things in life. One of those things is apparently the little piece of knowledge I’m going to tell you now, so get ready.” Victor leant in close, his lips a hair from Michael’s, and spoke in a whisper, as if imparting a secret. “When we fuck, I’m going to stick my cock in your arse.”

“Oh, god, I –!” Michael drew back, breathing out heavily. It made a lot of sense, now that he thought about it. Maybe if he was allowed to watch television ever, it wouldn’t have come as quite a shock. He hadn’t realised quite how naïve he was until that very moment.

“So, is that something… you’d want to consider?” Victor asked, teasing out the words slowly. His smirk was wider than ever, Michael noticed.

“It seems… different,” he answered cautiously. He didn’t want to commit yet. Not until he’d had a moment to think about it. “Won’t it be painful?”

“No, I know what I’m doing,” Victor murmured. “You just need to relax, and let me… build you up to it.” As he said it, Victor pulled the covers away and Michael shivered. Victor put a hand on his chest and gently eased him backwards onto the bed. Michael yielded. He couldn’t act like he wasn’t interested in what was going to happen. Even if he was nervous. The two conflicting sensations felt like an argument in the background that he couldn’t ask to shut up. Victor climbed over, and straddled him. Wisps of blonde hair fell softly against Michael’s cheeks.

“This is complicated,” Michael breathed.

“It won’t be,” Victor said. He kissed him. Michael felt dizzy, although he would admit it might simply be the result of a prolonged lack of blood in his head. He had closed his eyes the moment Victor kissed him, but he felt Victor carefully drag his legs apart, and felt the sudden closeness of the other body between them. The rough material of Victor’s jeans in the way. And the still present, still thoroughly insistent, hardness in his cock.

“I’m ready for it,” Michael squeaked. Victor drew his head up, and they shared a look of surprise.

“Ready for what?” Victor asked. Michael felt his heart leap. It was genuinely, certainly impossible that he had misunderstood Victor’s intentions. He would not believe it.

“For us to sleep together!” he blurted out. Victor narrowed his eyes, smiling awkwardly down at him.

“Uh, no,” he said. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” Michael insisted, suddenly feeling quite determined. He had built himself up to this, and if it was going to be snatched away at the last moment, then he would not be happy. “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? So… I’m ready.”

“No, no… Michael,” Victor sighed, sounding weary. “I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”

“But you said –!” Michael snapped, cutting himself off. He knew he had gone scarlet with embarrassment, and could not help but curl his lip in annoyance. “You said we were going to! You can’t back out now, I… I want it!”

“Look, we’re gonna fool around,” Victor laughed. “But I’m not fucking you. Not if you haven’t done it before, not just like that.” Michael knew he wasn’t a good liar. He could not believe he had managed to give himself away after all.

“But I told you about Carol!” he cried out. “I thought you believed me… you knew I was lying? How could you tell that I’m a virgin?” As soon as the words were out, the look of sheer delighted amusement on Victor’s face told Michael that he had not, in fact, given his secret up. Not until now.

“You’re _what_?!” Victor screeched. “You mean _completely_? Ha! I just meant with anal, I didn’t want to push you too hard, but you’re… you’ve never fucked anyone! Oh my god, that’s too –”

“Please shut up about the whole thing! There’s no need to worsen my suffering!” Michael wailed, desperate to take it back, knowing it was too late. He felt he might actually have endured more humiliation tonight than he had in the past five years, total. Perhaps staying inside and reading by himself was the best option after all. It was certainly better than this.

“God!” Victor crowed. He peeled back, sitting up on the bed, and Michael quickly did the same. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop. It’s not… a big deal. I’m just… a little shocked, aren’t you twenty-one? But I mean, that’s fine. It’s normal, actually, if anything _I’m_ the…” He could not stop himself from wearing his smug amusement on his sleeve, and was forced to ring his hands to let some of it out.

“ _Fine_ ,” Michael said coldly. “How did it happen when _you_ first…” Victor sighed warmly.

“Well, I was a teenager, and she was older than me, but –”

“No, I would prefer not to know, actually,” Michael quickly amended. “I don’t have any reason to need to know about that. And I just want you to know, it’s not that I’m… _overdue_ , I just… was waiting for it to… For an…”

“For an opportunity?” Victor suggested.

“Not just that!” Michael insisted. “I suppose I could have got it over with, couldn’t I? Like everyone apparently _does_. But I didn’t want to! I wanted it to be better than that!” He felt silly saying it now, but it was true. He could probably have managed to divest himself of his virginity before now, if he hadn’t cared how he did it. But he did.

“And now you get me,” Victor breathed lovingly, though the sarcasm dripped. “Cherry-picking! And I almost didn’t realise I was even in the orchard. Do cherries grow in orchards? Whatever, it’s a metaphor.” Michael rolled his eyes.

 “I was being foolish,” he said. “I suggest we forget the whole thing, and you and I go to sleep in separate rooms. Then tomorrow, I can wake up a virgin, as I have done without complaint many times before, and you can wake up… without picking any _fruits_ , as you crudely suggested.”

“It’s a metaphor!” Victor drawled. “But wait, you’re telling me… no messing around at all?”

“Not if you’re going to make fun of me,” Michael muttered. Victor reached out to stroke his hair.

“Aww, of course not,” he said. He sounded at least slightly apologetic, Michael thought. Thankfully. “I won’t tease you anymore. I’ve had my fill. But I’m happy to give you yours.”

“That’s awfully crude,” Michael complained, before Victor leant in to kiss him again. Then he decided to be quiet for a while. After all, he was only naturally curious about how Victor defined the term ‘messing around’.


	5. Five

A couple of days spent learning the meaning of the phrase had turned Michael into something of a fan of messing around. Victor had, as promised, left his virginity itself intact, although the two of them had tried plenty of other things in the meantime. Michael had been appropriately nervous at each new hurdle, but the rolling laugh against his ear and the fingers wrapped thickly in his hair had always convinced him. He had let Victor tug him off, let him push one and eventually two fingers inside him, and even obligingly opened his mouth when Victor had suggested it. Though that one he could still not quite believe. He had decided to forgive himself for doing it once Victor returned the favour, however. These had been some of the better days of his life, Michael thought, and he didn’t really think childhood birthday parties belonged in the same category, anyway. Short of being handed his father’s sudden and complete acceptance, alongside a business degree from Yale, he doubted anything was going to make him happier any time soon. And at least this was a realistic fantasy. There was just one problem, and that was that Victor seemed reluctant to actually finish the job. Michael had made subtle suggestions and, in the heat of the moment, fully invited it, but Victor had not yet made any plans to divest him of his virginity. While Michael was enjoying catching up on lost time, he did find himself getting impatient. As he sat on the sofa, waiting for Victor to return from the kitchen, he tapped his fingers irritably against the arm.

“You look sulky,” Victor said, as he suddenly reappeared. Michael jumped and quickly recovered.

“Victor!” he snapped. “You have to stop this!”

“Stop entering rooms in my own house?” Victor asked uncertainly. Michael shot him a glare.

“No, you’ve been toying with me, and I hate it. I want it to stop.” Victor came and sat down beside him, idly running a hand through his hair, which Michael found distracting and so eased away from.

“I thought you were enjoying yourself?” Victor argued. “You wanna start paying me rent with cash, that’s up to you.” He laughed to himself.

“No, Victor, I…” Michael sighed. “I’d like if we could… if we could…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Victor said. “Not like you haven’t hinted. I still think it’s early, but hey, it’s your choice, right. For me, it’s Tuesday.” Michael scowled at him and he grinned apologetically. “The best Tuesday I could ever live,” he added.

“It’s not Tuesday today,” Michael pointed out.

“Metaphorical!” Victor sighed. “But sure. You want it, it’s yours. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Michael asked, feeling the familiar anxious weight landing in his chest. “Yes… all right. We’ll try tonight.” Victor kissed his cheek and got up from the sofa.

“Tonight it is,” he said.

“Wait!” Michael called out. “You won’t suddenly change your mind, will you? You mean it?”

“Mickey, I promise you,” Victor said, grinning broadly. “I will rid you of that terrible virgin affliction of yours tonight, no matter what. You can guarantee it.”

\--

Victor had disappeared for a few hours in the afternoon, and Michael was glad for the time. Now that he knew tonight was going to be the night, he found himself returning to a few of his long-standing romantic inclinations. He wanted there to be some semblance of it being special. He had managed to locate a few candles in a mouldering cupboard, presumably from before Victor had moved in. He had spent a long time in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at himself from various angles and making faces, to see if he was going to look ridiculous or not. He had tried to scrub at the dark circles under his eyes to no success. It was not possible to remove years of insomnia in one evening, it turned out. He brushed his hair, repositioning his bangs several times before accepting that he couldn’t turn himself into a different person. He would have to do as he was. The idea momentarily upset him, and he had to repeat to himself that Victor already liked him. This was not a test. Victor liked him, presumably as he was. Tonight, he was going to prove it.

As soon as Michael heard the front door opening, he quickly lit the candles he had placed on the bedside table. He found his heart skipping, and forced himself to stand straight-backed, waiting. Victor stumbled around the living room briefly before finally appearing. The smile Michael had reflexively brought to his face fell when he noticed that Victor was soaking wet.

“What happened?” he asked in horror.

“What? What do you think happened, it’s raining. Water, from the sky. Hence the drench.” Victor rang a thick lock of hair out to demonstrate.

“Oh… that’s unfortunate,” Michael sighed. He could already sense that Victor’s promise that tonight would happen no matter what had vanished with the rain. Victor noticed his disappointment. He walked across the room and nudged Michael’s cheek gently with his fist.

“Cheer up,” he said. “There’s tomorrow. Or whenever.” Michael was not pleased with the idea. He was beginning to feel that Victor might be growing bored with him. That this game they were playing was already dull, and Victor was trying to carefully excuse himself without causing too much upset. As he often did, Michael was beginning to feel like a burden. Like his position as an uninvited guest had never really changed. And considering that he now wanted to be quite a lot more than that, he had to do something to change the course.

“Please, Victor, let’s do it tonight anyway,” he insisted, taking hold tightly of Victor’s arm and hoping he would not be asked to let go. “I feel fine. The rain is not always a problem. Tonight will be fine.”

“Come on, Michael, you really think that?” Victor scoffed. “Stuff always works out the way you don’t want it to. Or is the FBI’s most wanted gonna tell me that’s not true?” Michael couldn’t fight him on that. Instead, he dug his fingers into Victor’s arm and tried to decide how to argue.

“If it gets bad, we can stop,” he suggested. Victor sighed, but he did not immediately dismiss the idea. Michael felt a little emboldened, and carried on. “I’ll tell you the moment I have a problem,” he assured Victor. He could see the other man’s resolve weakening, and knew that a few more platitudes were likely to win him over. “Victor, it’s just that…” Michael murmured coyly. “I want you quite a lot.” That did it. Victor had him in a kiss in seconds, hands squeezing his shoulders, tongue pushing into his mouth. Michael grabbed for Victor, slinging his arms around his neck. A moment later he was toppled backwards onto the bed, the arms around him fumbling now for their owner’s buttons. He leaned up enough to watch as Victor tugged off his shirt and began work on his jeans. It occurred to him to start on his own clothing, and he unbuttoned his shirt. He was just dropping it onto the floor when he felt a sudden wave of dizziness come over him.

“You’re okay?” Victor asked, his voice low and catching, breath heavy, and Michael did not want to worry him. He knew if he did, it would stop, and they would spend the evening chastely watching one of Victor’s terrible zombie movies, while Victor constantly elbowed him and said ‘that’s you!’ whenever an appropriately put-together zombie lurched into the frame. Land of the Dead had been an especial chore.

“I’m fine, I’m happy,” Michael breathed back, willing the fog away from his head. Why did it have to come tonight? Why not one of the many nights when he was forced to wash windows in the dark, or run surveillance outside a building his father had deemed to be full of suspicious types? No, it had to be now, and he was not going to let it win.

“Good, just checking,” Victor muttered. Michael noticed that he was attempting to remove his jeans without having actually taken off his boots, and watched as Victor shouted a swear and got up from the bed. He yanked the boots off his feet and flung them into a corner, tore off his jeans, and then returned to the bed a moment later, but the haze in Michael’s head was growing, and those few seconds had cost him the ability to pretend to be fine. Victor noticed right away. Michael saw his face fall, his expression cloud over.

“I said I was fine!” Michael insisted, but even to him the words sounded sluggish. Victor had already swung his feet back onto the floor, and a second later, he was pulling Michael up into a sitting position and gently brushing the hair from his face with a look of concern in his eyes.

“You’re not. So we’re stopping. It’s not the end of the world, Michael, it’s just one night.” Despite the haziness, Michael was still enough himself to suspect that that was not true. This one night could easily turn into two, three, forever. The rain was just an easy excuse. And soon, he would wake up one morning to find Victor and Carol MacLaine kissing on the sofa and a police cruiser waiting outside to pick him up. Even if the last part wasn’t true, and Victor let him stay around out of pity, he was not going to do what Michael wanted. And he wanted it very badly, he realised.

“No!” Michael shouted, panic sounding in his voice, and Victor looked at him with worry. “No, I still want to! You have to!”

“Michael, why?” Victor snapped back. “Just… go to sleep, and we’ll see what happens later –”

“No!” Michael insisted fiercely. “You can’t leave me, I just want… I just want to…”

“To what, Michael, cause twenty minutes from now you’ll be trying to claw my eyes out and howling at the moon!” Victor snarled, and Michael noticed the frustration undercutting his words. “It’s not fucking safe, and I want you to stay safe, is that so hard to accept? So, what the fuck do you want from me? Tell me!”

“I want to make love to my boyfriend!” Michael cried out, and Victor froze, eyes widening at the speed of a cork pop. Michael felt stupid having said it, but the desperation had managed to outrace the rising dizziness, and he needed it said before Victor shut him in and boarded up the door for the night. More than anything, more than just the act itself, Michael wanted Victor to prove that he might, possibly, in some potential future scenario, actually agree to love him. And every rejection and refusal was really starting to make that look unlikely. Michael hated that he had come to want that so quickly, but he could hardly argue with himself any more than he already had. Before Victor had a chance to respond, Michael felt a pulse of adrenaline rushing through his head, and clasped at his temples with a sudden shout. He snapped his eyes shut and hoped it would go away, wished it would, but knew there was no hope. He had already left it far too long, and now he could only hope that Victor made a run for it in the next few seconds. Before it was actually too late.

“Michael, shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I wasn’t listening to what you meant, but –”

“Get out! It’s dangerous, you were right, get out!” Michael wailed. But he did not notice the signs of Victor fleeing the room. Instead, Victor seemed to stay where he was, and he felt, through the fog, a hand on his shoulder. Michael was trying to build up his energy to cry out another warning, when the sudden oppressively plastic feeling of something on his face distracted him. After several seconds, the dizziness began to fade, and he opened his eyes.

“Better?” Victor asked. Michael needed another moment to realise what had happened. Victor had slipped the gasmask over his face. And it was working. The clear, if rather stifling, air inside the mask was clearing his head. He felt better. He felt human.

“Oh, I…I almost forgot that… this was an option,” Michael tried to say, although the mask muffled his voice and he was unsure exactly how much got out. He heard Victor laughing lightly, and was relieved to see that he was not upset.

“Of course,” Victor agreed. “It’s working, then? I thought you might just... I dunno, read or something. Wait out the rain. In peace, this time.” Victor reached for his jeans and Michael quickly grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Well, wait,” he said in the muffled voice. “Now that the crisis is averted, perhaps we might still… there’s no reason why we can’t spend the night together now, is there?” Victor looked at him, head cocked to the side, clearly eager to bleed sarcasm in response.

“Michael, no offence, but don’t you think it’ll feel a bit ‘Birdsong’? Like we’re going for one last hurrah, knowing we’re about to die in the trenches, with our poor, dear fiancées Muffy and Stuffy back home crying their eyes out?”

“I’m fairly sure that’s not what happens in –”

“You got my point, Mickey,” Victor drawled dryly. “It’s just not how I imagine you _want_ to lose your punch card. Am I wrong?” Michael considered it. No, arguably, it wasn’t ideal. But it would mean that it would still happen tonight, now, with Victor, and right now that was the most ideal way he could imagine it taking place.

“Sleep with me,” Michael said softly, words swirling through the filter of the mask, arms reaching needily out for Victor. Victor began to laugh, soft and gently, no hint of meanness in it. A moment later, Michael was pushed carefully onto his back, Victor working kisses down his chest. When the kisses reached his hip bones and began to linger more, Michael moaned out loud. This was going to happen, he realised, with a rush of excitement. Victor sucked hard on his hip and Michael squirmed under the sudden pressure, the mild pain. He felt Victor’s teeth glide over his skin, settle, and dig in just enough to do a little damage. After a few of these, Victor reached out and unhooked the button of Michael’s trousers, easing them down and laying another layer of kisses where the hem had been.

“Your last chance to back out, my bloody valentine,” Victor called from his waist. At this stage, Michael felt that if he backed out now, he might explode, so much was the intense ball of anticipation in his chest. And the stiffness in his cock, that had worsened with every one of Victor’s unsubtle little bites to his hips.

“Victor, stop wasting my time! Each lost second is a crime!” Michael shouted and, despite the gasmask, he was sure he had been perfectly clear. Victor got to his feet to strip off the last of his clothes and, even through the olive filter of the lenses, Michael enjoyed watching.

“You too,” Victor said, and Michael obligingly climbed up from the bed. He realised his legs were shaking slightly with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. He hesitantly divested himself of his boxers and was about to sit back down, when Victor’s arms twined around his waist to stop him. He found himself being led around to the foot of the bed. Then, Victor rested a hand forcefully on his back and pressed, bending him forward over the edge.

“Ah, Victor, I’m not sure… what are you doing?” Michael asked nervously.

“Exactly the thing you have been asking me to do to you for several days, up to and including within the last ten minutes,” Victor drawled. “Be a good boy, lean forward.”

“Victor, we should be on the bed,” Michael protested. He was sure he remembered Victor mentioning that this act was essentially the reverse of how it would be for him to sleep with a woman. Unless he had managed to misunderstand.

“No, no, this is better,” Victor murmured, pressing his head close to the latex-encased side of Michael’s head where his ear was. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Where is that eager-to-please attitude of yours, Mickey? And to think, it never faltered when you had my cock in your mouth. Can’t I get an encore of that…?” Michael found the blood rushing to his cheeks which, inside the gasmask, rendered him far too warm in the face.

“V-Victor, if you… if you say that this is how it is done, then I trust you.”

“It’s how it’s done _right_ ,” Victor sniggered. Victor pushed against his back and Michael gave the rest of the way, feeling the soft material of the blanket come into contact with his hands and chest. His legs came up against the edge of the bed, and he waited, nervously, for what was coming next.

Victor ran his fingers down Michael’s spine, ghosting against the slight juts of the bone and making him twitch with each brush of skin on skin. His other hand snaked around Michael’s waist and the thumb slid across the tip of Michael’s erection, and the twitching became furious and completely out of Michael’s control. He began to pant, and the inside of the mask clung to his face with each heavy breath. This went on for minutes, with Victor shifting his fingers over various places on Michael’s body, finding the sensitive spots and brushing each one with just the right level of pressure to set them on fire without actually providing any satisfaction. Soon, Michael was shivering all over and so thoroughly sexually agitated that he would probably have submitted to anyone who asked. Or at least, he would have been sorely tempted to. As Victor brought his index finger back along the place where Michael’s spine ended and descended downwards, Michael was forced to stop him.

“Just start, please!” he cried out desperately. He heard Victor laugh.

“Hey, no-one shouts that at a conductor, but I understand your frustration,” Victor murmured darkly. “Don’t think I could sit through a whole opera without begging them to end it, either.”

“If you can put your artistic arrogance aside for a moment…” Michael sighed heavily. “And remember that the only thing you are conducting is… me, then maybe you could put an end to my suffering. If you would be so _considerate_.”

“You bet,” Victor said. Michael let out a sigh of thanks and waited impatiently. He made a vain attempt to draw the oppressive plastic away from his face a little. “So, I know you’re already… thoroughly latex-ed,” Victor laughed. “But I should probably make likewise. Give me three seconds.” Michael did not move, but watched as Victor reappeared in his limited vision for a moment. He reached into the drawer of the bedside table and produced a condom.

“Oh, that,” Michael mumbled. “Yes, thank you.”

“Why thank me now? I didn’t wear one when you blew me,” Victor giggled. “And if you remember, that was more than a little explosi–”

“ _I do_ remember, thank you!” Michael spluttered. He could hardly forget. He had made the now presumably legendary mistake of trying to speak immediately after Victor had pulled out of his mouth, and ended up with the physical evidence of why that was a bad idea running down his chin, as he had desperately tried to smack his hands over his mouth. Victor would no doubt continue bringing it up for the rest of his life. Possibly even at the funeral, if the crowd was right.

Victor strolled back around the bed and out of view, and Michael heard him tear the wrapper open behind his back. He waited impatiently for the next step. Victor rested a hand on Michael’s hip, giving him a quick encouraging squeeze, and in the next moment, Michael felt the pressure of Victor’s cock against him. He held his breath.

“Just relax and it’ll be fine,” Victor muttered, distractedly. “If you tense up it’ll probably hurt.”

“It’s going to hurt?” Michael asked, at just the same moment that Victor guided the tip of his cock into Michael’s ass, following up with a short thrust. “Ah, yes! I see!” Michael gasped. The sting had caught him off guard, although after that first second, the sensation quickly began to feel… pleasant.

“That’s all right, is it?” Victor murmured, toying with the free strands of Michael’s hair that escaped the edge of the gasmask. Michael twitched at the gesture.

“Yes, I think it’s… it’ll be… please continue.” Victor hummed happily to himself and did as he had been asked. Michael felt Victor’s movements reflected down every nerve in his body. He dug his fingernails into the blanket and was briefly thankful that he wasn’t actually watching the process play out. He suspected it would make him feel all the more self-conscious, and for once he was quite enjoying the feeling of letting that go. Without warning, Victor pushed himself in deeper, and Michael let out a low, long moan.

“I’m glad you like it, I wasn’t sure you actually would,” Victor murmured, hot breath breaking against Michael’s covered face. “You never know, do you. And admittedly it’s quite intense. I know the first time I did this, I, well… let’s just say it was not immediately to my taste.”

“Ah, no… of course, I… I understand…” Michael stammered, although he was having a hard time focusing on exactly what Victor was saying. He did not consider this an optimal time for small talk. His breath kept coming back to him inside the gasmask, and he knew he was going to look a sight when he took it off. His hair would be damply pressed flat against his forehead and his cheeks would be bright red, no doubt. If he was unlucky, his whole face would be scarlet, from top to bottom. Seeing as he had never been athletic and rarely found any occasion to run, it was not a look he associated with anything positive. Though the worry did lead him to wonder what Victor looked like in this moment, which caused him to let out another trickle of moans.

“Harder?” Victor asked. “Deeper?” His voice sounded as uninterrupted as ever, Michael noticed, as if he was asking for a dinner order, and not in the process of removing someone’s virginity.

“I don’t know, I don’t know… what you mean,” Michael muttered. Victor laughed to himself and quickly demonstrated, and Michael clasped the blanket tightly in his fists as he cried out. “Victor, please!” he whimpered.

“All right, all right, sorry, I know you’re not used to it,” Victor breathed back in amusement. “You have to give me some hints, you know. How am I meant to know how rough you want it…?”

“I don’t!” Michael answered immediately. “Be gentle, I… I’m not… can we please stop talking through this?!” The effort of focusing on both the conversation and the sensation was getting the better of him.

“Sure,” Victor murmured. “It’s your first time, after all. It should be how you want it.” And with that, he shut up, to Michael’s relief. Without the distraction, Michael quickly began to focus solely on Victor’s cock, and the now mercifully slower and gentler thrusts as it worked inside of him. He decided he could not have pictured the feeling if someone had asked him before. For once, he did not even feel anxious. It was all-consuming. Soon, he felt Victor wrap a hand around his cock and begin to move over it. Michael groaned. The twin sensations in his cock and his ass were powerful, considerably more so than anything he had ever done to himself. The two feelings together in sync were even better than the warmth of Victor’s mouth had been. And that had, he really felt, been a high point of his life.

“Perhaps a little… a little harder now,” Michael found himself saying, and he was obliged almost at once, Victor quickening his thrusts and putting his free hand hard on Michael’s hip for leverage. The thumb stroked his skin as the fingers dug in. Victor’s hand around his cock continued to move lazily, as if it had better things to do. “You can… you can go… move faster at the front as well, Victor,” Michael stammeringly insisted.

“No way,” Victor breathed down on him, the two words dripping with an unusually strong sense of arrogance. “If I rush, then you’ll come, and I’ll be left in the lurch. You take what you can get. Let me drive.” Michael was tempted to protest, but Victor gave him a single, rougher squeeze, and his protest was drowned out with a low groan.

“If you insist…” he mumbled. He worried that if he caused too much of a fuss, Victor might stop, and he would consider slicing off an arm to prevent that in this moment. He could feel the pressure building inside him, and based on the slow but steadily increasing pants coming from Victor, he expected that he was in a similar position as well. Still, the waiting was killing him. He was desperate to finish, but needed Victor to willingly assist in the process. It occurred to Michael that if he couldn’t convince Victor with his argument, he might well have other means at his disposal.

“Oh, Victor,” Michael breathed. “Oh, yes, Victor.”

“Fuck me, Michael,” Victor stammered back. Michael sensed he was onto a win.

“Victor, that’s… the things you’re making me feel,” Michael moaned, hoping that his sudden exaggeration wouldn’t be called out. It wasn’t. Instead he heard an especially desperate moan escape Victor’s lips and felt him quicken his pace, in both respects. Michael had to bite into his lip, something that was not completely straightforward under the gasmask, at the change. At least it would not be hard to sound appreciative, he thought.

“God, Michael, you’re… don’t tease,” Victor groaned.

“I could not have… im-imagined how intense this would feel!” Michael cried out, receiving another especially forceful thrust in response that made his head swim. “Victor, you’re… you’re making me… I’ve never felt anything like this…” And, he would add, it was true.

“Like you can talk,” Victor breathed, thrusting hard and clutching Michael’s cock with a shaking hand. “This is the tightest, I’ve… look, shut up! I want to take more time, and don’t think I don’t know what those melodic little whispers of yours are trying to do!” Michael caught himself smirking. So, Victor did not mind, then. He would not stop in that case. He thought he might even let himself get a little more outlandish.

“Victor, this is heavenly,” Michael moaned, taking a turn for the dramatic in his performance. “I may actually have died, and this is my reward for being a good person. Oh, I’m so glad I never shoplifted or pushed a child off a swing, otherwise, how could I live knowing I was missing this?” He felt his smirk growing, and no longer cared that the moans he was letting slip in between words were fogging up the inside of the gasmask terribly.

“Carry on, you sarcastic little shit, I have a bit more staying power than you think,” Victor laughed painfully. To prove a point, he momentarily let go of Michael’s cock, and Michael hissed unhappily at the change.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, but _please_!” Michael cried. Victor giggled and grabbed hold of him again, pumping it roughly once and then returning to a steady, constant rhythm. Despite the back-and-forth, neither of them was going to be able to hold on much longer, and both knew it. Michael was impatient and hoped he would be given the chance to come first, but Victor’s slow stirring of his cock coupled with the rough thrusts into his ass made that look unlikely. Either way, he was too far along now to plot, and settled for a chorus of loud moans to accompany Victor’s every move, alongside a tightening of his fingers into the material of the blanket. He hoped Victor would be done soon, at least. His legs were starting to ache.

“Michael, I just… I just wanna say…” Victor moaned. “It’s been a real pleasure, for me, this whole false murder charge. Let’s… d-do it again some time.”

“Don’t be so…” Michael began, but he cut himself off with a loud whimper. He heard Victor let out a harsh sigh, and suddenly shift both his hands to his hips, squeezing his fingers roughly into Michael’s skin. Michael was ready to argue against this development, but he realised before he could what was happening. Victor pushed hard for the last few thrusts, and let out a sharp groan as he finished. Michael gasped at the sudden twitching feeling inside of him, and waited as Victor tensed and untensed the hands on his hips, enjoying the moment for what it was worth.

“Okay,” Victor sighed at last, “Now you.” Michael’s heart leapt. He noticed that Victor did not withdraw before taking hold of his cock and beginning to, this time, frantically pump it. As soon as it began, Michael could no longer focus enough to think. He may as well not have existed above the waist. Victor managed to find just the right rhythm, though Michael, had he been able to think about it, might have realised that his overzealous and quite desperate moaning was the key to that. Very quickly, he felt it rising inside of him, and let out an especially loud whine in the second before he came. He shivered and whimpered as his cock shook in Victor’s hand, stickying his fingers.

Michael continued to pant in the aftermath, and heard the sound repeating inside the mask. His pulse was racing, and he could not make his breathing slow. He felt the sudden twinge of Victor pulling out of him with a grunt.

“There,” Victor breathed. “How was your first time?” Michael could not answer. The unfortunate side effect of wearing the gasmask for too long was beginning to dawn on him. He was struggling to breathe. He continued to pant as he desperately tried to calm his breathing, but the rush of panic only worsened the situation.

“Vi, Vimm, Vict… mmm,” Michael managed through his rising panic. Victor, realising that something was wrong, flipped him over onto his back. Suddenly, Michael caught sight of Victor through the lenses of the gasmask. An olive-coloured outline of messy hair and an expression of concern.

“Breathe? A suggestion? Maybe quite a good one?” Victor said, gently shaking Michael by the shoulder. “You’re literally wearing a breathing mask!” he snapped. The extra stress of being shouted at, even if it was from a place of worry, did not help things for Michael. He continued to hyperventilate, trying to draw a breath that was not coming. He began to fear that he was going to pass out, possibly even die, and let out a strangled cry. Just then, the world suddenly changed colour. And a second later, he saw Victor holding up the gasmask over his head, a grim expression on his face. Michael gasped and gasped, and slowly found he was able to breathe again.

“Th-thank you,” he mumbled.

“Sure, no problem,” Victor said dryly, turning the mask around in his hand. “And maybe next time I won’t asphyxiate you. Erotic or not. It’s not a good look.” He turned his eyes down to Michael and slowly broke into a filthy grin. “But that is,” he added.

“What?” Michael asked. He was still recovering from his minor suffocation. Victor tossed the mask onto the ground, and unhooked a mirror from the wall. He held it out proudly so Michael could see himself. His entire face was pink, his cheeks positively red. His hair looked as if he had slept in a blender, as it stuck out all around his face and into his eyes, where it did not cling damply to his forehead. Even now, he could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, as he tried to return to the rhythm of breathing normally. He looked as if he had run all the way down his father’s rather impressive driveway in one sitting.

“Well, now you really look like you got laid,” Victor crowed.

“I look terrible!” Michael cried out, pushing the mirror away. “How can you tolerate it?!”

“You’re kidding?” Victor laughed, before realising he wasn’t. “Oh, come on,” he said in a softer voice. “You might be a mess, but you’re still beautiful.” Michael found himself laughing.

“Now, that has never been true,” he scoffed.

“Oooh, no no!” Victor sighed breathily, getting down on one knee and clutching his hands together dramatically. “You are a vision, my pet, even in this state, though you flush and asphyxiate. And do not argue, do not stutter, not a single disagreeing mutter. To fault the end result of our copulation, would deny me this moment’s elation. As I look upon you now, I have no critique. Why, the sight of your face makes my knees grow weak.” He smirked proudly to himself and Michael stared in shock, dumbstruck.

“You can rhyme like that off the cuff…?” He eventually asked in a small voice.

“Yeah, it ain’t exactly the hardest stuff.” Victor scoffed. “That, and several years of literature training, and you can find a rhyme like… half the time.” He climbed back to his feet and, suddenly looking at his hands, added: “I’ll just get to the bathroom a sec,” before leaving the room.

Now that he was alone, Michael let himself rest back into the mattress, and found that he was smiling. He just could not help it. Finally, for once in his life, he was actually onto a win. Someone liked him. More than just tolerated him, or needed him around. They actually liked him. A lot, it looked like. He was still smiling warmly to himself when Victor returned.

“Bit of a throwback,” Victor said smoothly. Michael looked happily up at him from the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “Yeah… did you call me your boyfriend earlier?” And Michael dropped straight back down.

“I recognise that that was… assuming,” he said quickly.

“Yeah, you reckon right!” Victor snorted. “Look, we’re not… we are not boyfriends. I don’t even remember the last time I _had_ a boyfriend. Senior prom, maybe? For a night, at least. But my point is that, Michael, while I was happy to deflower you, I will not be walking you down the aisle any time soon. Is that all… mmmclear?” Michael stared blankly at the smug smile on Victor’s face and, as the meaning of the words dawned on him, he was completely overcome by anger. He reached over his shoulder, grabbed a pillow, and flung it as hard as he could, catching Victor square in the jaw.

“You absolute shit!” Michael shouted, aware that he had come off completely shrill.

“Hey, hey, hey! Watch it!” Victor said, swatting at the pillow which had sunk down to his knees. “Did I say ‘show’s over, get the fuck out of my house’? Did I tell you the next girl was waiting in the hall? Look, I’ll… do right by you, all right? We can keep things like this for a while, and if… if things go well, then… then… christ.” He covered his face with his hands and sighed sharply.

“You… you mean…” Michael stammered. “That you _will_ be my boyfriend, in time?”

“ _No_ , I said we could keep hooking up and see what happens,” Victor muttered. Michael clambered angrily up from the bed and a moment later, he was in Victor’s face, aggressively jabbing a finger at his nose.

“Victor!” he snapped. “We will not continue seeing each other at all, in any capacity, unless you agree to… to…”

“To what?” Victor asked.

“To _court_ me,” Michael decided, pleased. Victor groaned.

“That’s ancient. I might as well start saving up for a dowry,” he complained. Michael was unfazed. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest.

“Final offer,” he said. “Nothing other.”

“So, you expect me to bring you flowers, blow you kisses, and write you sappy little poems, and earn the fucking right to get an encore of tonight, is that it?” Victor asked. Michael nodded firmly. Victor considered it, weighing the option in his mind. He let out a soft sigh. “Fine,” he agreed. “Fine, but only because you have an ass I’d buy a mortgage on.”

“Well then,” Michael said happily, gently, wrapping his arms around Victor’s neck. “I can’t wait to see what happens next.” The two of them kissed, deeply, and as the butterfly tremors rose in his stomach, Michael was almost tempted to pop his leg.


End file.
